


Nothing Like A Wrecking Ball

by unadrift



Category: Common Law
Genre: Angst, First Time, Injury, M/M, Yuletide 2012, couples therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 03:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unadrift/pseuds/unadrift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Travis pulled through. He pulled through, but of course he'd had to make Wes sweat first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Like A Wrecking Ball

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maekala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maekala/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Maekala! This fic probably didn't turn out as dark as you wished for, but I hope you enjoy! Writing these two characters reminded me how much I adore their chemistry, so I consider myself lucky to have received this assignment. It was just that much fun to write!
> 
> A huge thank you goes to my beta reader, who saved me from my own impatience, amongst other things. Thanks so much, [Makioka](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Makioka/pseuds/Makioka)!

Rozelle raised an eyebrow at Wes. "Really? You don't find your partner the least bit attractive?"

Wes had no idea why she sounded incredulous. No one with an ounce of common sense should consider this a reasonable assumption.

Still, Rozelle's question prompted curious faces from the female portion of the group, including Doctor Ryan. The men, bless them, looked varying degrees of scandalized, which Wes sympathized with. He couldn't even remember how this conversation had started, let alone where it had gone so terribly wrong that it had arrived at this point.

"Yeah, Wes. Don't you find me attractive anymore?" Travis asked, looking at Wes through his lashes, feigning hurt, the bastard.

"Why would you think that, honey?" Wes deadpanned, "You sweep me off my feet every day."

Travis grinned as if he'd been paid an actual compliment. Doctor Ryan looked pleased for some unfathomable reason. Wes hated them both like burning.

 

 

"This is not," Wes said, "really, really not, what I meant by you sweeping me off my feet."

He pressed one hand down on the wound in Travis' stomach and tightened the other around his gun. Blood kept seeping through his fingers, a lot of blood, warm and sticky and smelling sickeningly of copper.

"Worked," Travis said, gasping.

"That depends," Wes hissed, quickly peering over the Lego display to scan the store for the shooters, "on what you wanted to achieve. If it was your unfulfilled childhood dream to get shot in a toy store, then congratulations, you did it."

"You're alive," Travis said, as if that explained anything. His hand was holding onto Wes' jacket, probably clenching permanent wrinkles into the fabric, maybe ripping off buttons Wes was never going to be able to replace... Why was he thinking about this? What was _wrong_ with him?

 

 

"It's not uncommon." Doctor Ryan's voice was kind. Too kind. The shrink sort of kind. "The mind refuses to deal with a traumatic event and finds something safe to focus on. That doesn't make you a bad person."

Wes laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. "It doesn't? Travis... He took a bullet for me." He rubbed his shoulder, found the spot that had been slammed into the ground when Travis had landed half on top of him. The bruise was still black and blue under his shirt. "He swept me off my feet and took a bullet for me."

Dakota cleared her throat. "Are you sure you don't want us to..." she said hesitantly and gestured towards the door. "This seems a little..."

"Personal," Mr Dumont finished. "We'd understand, if you didn't want us around for this."

"This is a group session," Doctor Ryan said. "No one needs to leave. If Wes wishes, we can schedule a private session."

"We really wouldn't mind it, if you..." Clyde started again, only to be elbowed in the ribs by his wife.

"You just want to get out of the session," said Rozelle. Judging by the guilty look on his face, she was not far off the mark.

"No, it's fine," Wes said, pulling himself together. "I'm fine. Travis is going to be fine. Give it a week or two, and he'll be driving us all crazy again, believe me. Let's talk about something else. Peter, Dakota, how did you like that pottery class you mentioned last week? Make any ashtrays?"

 

 

The bank robbers had high-tailed it. Wes had made the necessary calls and relayed all information he could think of, but backup and paramedics took ages to arrive. 

Travis stopped making sense after losing the first liter or so. 

All Wes could do now was put down his gun and use both hands to press a balled-up Sponge Bob blanket down against the blood flow. That, and he could curse Travis, loudly, in a litany of "Idiot, idiot, idiot" and "don't you dare do this", and "how stupid can one person be".

Travis mumbled, "'S not that bad," which, yeah, was the single dumbest thing Travis had ever said. Wes was about to tell him that, when Travis' eyes rolled back in his head.

"Travis?" Wes said and slapped his cheek, leaving it stained with blood. "Travis! You know what I would really appreciate right now? If you _stayed alive_!"

The paramedics took ages to show up, but when they did, they had great timing. They swooped in and had to start CPR no longer than a minute after that.

Wes stood back and watched, with Travis' blood dripping from his fingertips, under the disinterested stares of what seemed like a thousand Barbie dolls lining the shelves.

Travis would be so pissed if he died in the pinkest aisle of the damn store.

 

 

"What kind of a question is that? How do you think I felt?"

Wes knew he was being irrational and too loud and a number of other very telling things. He wasn't sure why he was even here, what the captain had thought this would achieve. One half of this couple was absent, still recovering from what had almost been a kill shot.

"Tell us," Doctor Ryan said.

Mrs Dumont murmured something Wes didn't quite catch. It sounded encouraging. Even Clyde looked nauseatingly supportive.

Wes could no longer keep still. He just couldn't, no matter Doctor Ryan's opinion on patients wearing holes into a floor that wasn't even technically hers. "Powerless, okay? I felt powerless. Helpless. Angry. No, livid. Livid would be a better description. Are those enough feeling words for you? Are you satisfied?"

Naturally, she wasn't. "Angry at Travis?"

"Yes angry at Travis," Wes yelled in her face. "The idiot almost got himself killed!"

The whole group was staring at him by then, wide-eyed, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

 

 

Travis pulled through. He pulled through, but of course he'd had to make Wes sweat first.

The EMTs hooked his partner up to wires and IVs and strapped him onto a gurney, and then, in a hurry, they were gone.

Some time later a hand landed on Wes' shoulder. "What are you still doing here?" Laroche's voice asked, then added, "Mitchell?"

"What?" he snapped, blinking, and turned to face her. "This is a crime scene. I'm doing my job."

Laroche's expression was worried and pitying and a few other things Wes did not want to decipher. "No offense," she said, "but that's not what you're doing. You're standing here staring after an ambulance that left ten minutes ago. Why didn't you go with him?"

Wes didn't know. It hadn't occurred to him at the time. Nothing much had occurred to him at the time. He wasn't used to being this... Whatever this was. This.

"Come on," Laroche said, almost gentle. "Let's find a uniform to drive you to the hospital. You can get cleaned up there."

Wes looked down at himself, his hands, his shirt and trousers and jacket, all that reddish brown, and for a moment he considered throwing up.

He was pushed into the passenger seat of a squad car. "Keep us updated, okay?"

"Yeah, yes," Wes said as Laroche shut the door.

He didn't acknowledge the driver, some uniformed cop he had never seen before, and concentrated on breathing regularly.

Two traffic lights later, Wes pulled out his phone.

"Captain," Wes said, when the call was answered. "Travis... He got shot."

"I know that much already," Sutton snapped. "Damnit, Mitchell, what happened? How is he?"

"Single GSW to the stomach," Wes said mechanically, watching the city rush by outside the window. "He was barely hanging on when they put him in the ambulance."

"Shit," Sutton cursed. "Shit! What were you two doing out there on your own? And why wasn't he wearing a vest? Mitchell, where was his vest?"

Wes' eyes followed a blue minivan filled with cheerful-looking kids as their squad car overtook it.

"Mitchell, you with me?" Sutton barked.

"In the car," he answered. "Our vests are in the trunk of our car."

"Why in god's name did you go after a heavily armed crew of bank robbers with no protective gear? Have you forgotten everything you were taught, or do you two idiots have some kind of death wish I should know about?"

Wes shifted in his seat. The driver's sideways glance felt like another accusation.

"There was no time," Wes said. "We... It was a coincidence we were even there."

Travis had said there was no time, and Wes had agreed. It had been the worst possible decision, and they'd been in complete agreement for once.

"That's no excuse, damnit!" Sutton shouted. "That's no reason and no excuse! You should know better. Both of you should know better!"

The call was ended on that. Wes imagined the captain slamming down the receiver several times for good measure and then putting his head in his hands.

"I know," he said, before slipping his phone into his pocket.

 

 

"A couple of weeks ago you told the group that you're angry," Doctor Ryan said, crossing her legs.

Wes swallowed and very much Did Not Want To Have This Conversation, but Doctor Ryan had a history of dragging him kicking and screaming anyway. This time she didn't need to. Travis did the dragging for her.

"Yeah he's angry," Travis said. "These guys robbed a bank, traumatized a toystore full of kids, and they shot me. Look, I even have a cool scar to prove it. Good thing chicks dig scars," He grinned and lifted his shirt, even though the month-old babe magnet was hidden from sight by a piece of gauze fixed down with two strips of medical tape. "Of course Wes is angry. If someone shot him, I'd be hunting them down, too. They wouldn't know what hit them. I'd be on them like that." He snapped his fingers, all proud and determinded and _stupid_ , and Wes wanted to punch him in his face.

The rest of the group wore expressions ranging from discomfort to confusion. It wasn't lost on Travis, who raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Doctor Ryan prompted the inevitable, "Wes?"

"I haven't been involved in the case," Wes admitted, looking down at his shoes.

"What?" Travis asked, surprised. "You... What?" An unspoken _How could you?_ crept in at the end of the sentence, a quiet note of betrayal.

Wes forced himself to meet Travis' eyes. "The captain assigned it to Laroche and Cafferty."

Travis had every reason to radiate disbelief, which he did, and in spades. Neither of them had ever taken the captain's supposed last word as gospel.

Wes didn't know what else to say, and Travis seemed to have the same problem.

Doctor Ryan looked at him and Travis in turn and said, "I think we should continue this in private at a later time."

For once, neither of them disagreed.

 

 

Wes never knew who had called Alex, but she came and found him sitting in a plastic chair in the corridor outside the emergency room. She took the chair next to him and handed him a cup of coffee. It wasn't even close to hot, Wes noted absentmindedly.

"Any news?" she asked.

"No." He carefully put the paper cup down on the low table next to his chair, afraid he might crush it in an involuntarily clenching fist.

"How long has he been in surgery?"

"Two hours now. They said it might take a lot longer."

She processed the information, looking worried. Thankfully, she didn't prod for more.

They waited.

There was a painting on the wall opposite their chairs. It was mostly green. Wes stared at it for a long time. He couldn't figure out what it was supposed to depict. Maybe flowers. Mabye not.

Alex glanced at him occasionally out of the corner of her eye, usually when he picked the coffee up for a sip.

At some point, Wes said, "This coffee is dreadful. How do these people manage to make such dreadful coffee?"

"Practice, I suppose," she said.

He snorted. "Right."

They fell back into silence, until Wes leaned his head back against the wall and tilted his face toward the ceiling. Without giving it too much thought, he asked, "Is this what it was like for you?"

"What do you mean?"

"The waiting," Wes explained. "Here."

"Oh." Alex sounded surprised. He angled his head towards her and caught her speculative expression. He had never liked it when she got that speculative air about her. Her guesses were usually right, and hardly ever in his favor.

She said, "You were never seriously... I never had to fear for your life."

"Sure. Except every morning when I went to work," he reminded her.

"That was different. That was completely different, and you..."

"I know, okay?" Wes cut her off. "I know." He was tense and on edge, and she already sounded defensive. He knew the signs. The last thing he needed right now was to get into a screaming match with his ex-wife.

He must have looked as miserable as he felt, because Alex took one of his hands into hers and squeezed it. "He's going to be alright."

Wes wanted to believe her.

Later, before she left, she told him, "You can water the lawn at any time of day you like."

Wes huffed out a laugh that held no amusement at all. "You say that now, but in a few weeks I'll be getting angry texts again."

"Probably. I value my sleep." She kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry I can't stay. Call me the second there's news. I mean it."

Her heels clicked as she strode down the corridor, probably already late for court.

Wes waited, trying to think of nothing at all.

 

 

They were barely in their seats when Doctor Ryan went straight for his throat, metaphorically speaking. "Wes, do you want to tell Travis who the focus of your anger is?" she asked.

No, Wes didn't, really. He had successfully avoided talking to him for the last day and a half. Thankfully, Travis wasn't cleared for duty yet, or the avoidance tactic wouldn't have worked out. Just seeing him sit there made Wes want to yell at him, to grab him by the collar and shake sense into him, anything to make him _listen_. 

The intensity of it made Wes' head spin and his teeth clench. Travis could probably see his muscles working and was drawing all the wrong conclusions. Not that Wes knew, exactly, what the right conlclusions were.

"Yeah, Wes, why don't you tell me all about that, if it's not the _criminals who shot your partner_ ," Travis said. His disappointment came through loud and clear, tinged with a healthy dose of anger.

Disappointment, Wes could not deal with. Not when he would have done anything, would still do anything to keep Travis from... Anything.

" _You_ , you asshole," he shouted. "I'm fucking angry with _you_! I could kill you myself for that stunt you pulled!"

"What?" Travis said, clearly surprised. "Me? What did I do? I didn't do anything!"

"What did I do?" Wes mimicked. "What did I do, he asks. You jumped in front of a bullet and almost got yourself killed! That's what you did!"

Travis was out of his chair and right up in Wes' face. "To save your life, you ungrateful ass!"

"And that makes it better?" Wes shot back and crowded in close, stabbing a finger against Travis' chest.

A stunned silence followed. They were practically breathing the same air. Travis looked... something. It was hard to tell, up close like this. Wes could distinguish between the different shades of color in his irises, but the variety of expression, the meaning behind it, was lost on him.

When Travis spoke, incredulity rang in every word. "Do you listen to yourself? Do you hear what you're saying?" He stepped back, and yes, that was his incredulous face alright.

"Travis, shut the hell up!" Wes yelled, at a volume that made Travis flinch back a little more. "For once in your life, shut up and listen, because I'm only going to say this once: You don't get to do that for me. You don't get to die for me. Do you understand me?"

Travis didn't, obviously, judging by the completely baffled look on his face. "Are you crazy? I see. You've finally gone crazy. It had to happen sometime. Wes, we're partners, you remember that? This is why our partnership works! You would take a bullet for me, I would take one for you. We never ever talk about it, but it's our thing. We need our thing, or we don't work anymore. Without it, we're nothing, you know that, right?"

Wes couldn't technically disagree. Travis made a stunning amount of logical sense. But there had to be a flaw in there somewhere, because this wasn't right. This was wrong enough to tie his stomach into knots. It was wrong enough to make him say, "I can't. I can't do this anymore," and rub a hand over his tired eyes. "I think I should put in for transfer."

When he looked up, Travis was staring at him, shocked. So was Doctor Ryan.

 _Without this, we're nothing,_ Wes thought, and bolted out the door.

He exited the building's parking lot at a speed that was completely unreasonable, with his nails digging painfully into the steering wheel.

This was not at all how he'd imagined this conversation going, and he'd spent a lot of time considering the possible outcomes and dreading them all. The way it had actually gone down? Was only just sinking in. Wes' breathing was slowing down, his fingers were relaxing a bit, and, wow, maybe he shouldn't be driving this fast, and _had he really just done that_?

Yes. Yes, he had. He'd threatened to break up their partnership, something they had both fought for before, tooth and nail. And why? Because the dangers of the job were suddenly too much for him to handle?

Wes shook his head in frustration. Maybe Travis was right. Maybe he was going crazy. Alex would have a field day with this. If he ever told her. Which he wasn't planning on doing.

 

 

Travis looked like crap in his hospital bed, exhausted and banged up and more than a little loopy from the good drugs. When he finally noticed Wes standing in the doorway, he said, "So, who are you?"

For a moment, one single moment that Wes spent feeling like a heart attack might be in order, he thought _amnesia_.

Travis must have seen it on his face and tried to grin, but it came out a little strained. "Relax," he said. "How could I forget my pain-in-the-ass of a partner? I _meant_ , who'd you tell them you were, so they'd let you in?"

Wes breathed out. "Brother-in-law."

Travis raised an eyebrow, or tried to. He couldn't quite manage. The sight made something in Wes' chest clench. "Weak cover, man. Like I'd let you marry my sister."

Wes shook his head. "Super. I remember now why I thought it was a good thing to have you around a little longer." He tried to infuse as much sarcasm as possible, but it came across more sincere than anything else. Damn.

Travis' eyes went soft. He was on lots of happy-making medication, Wes reminded himself as he stepped further inside the room.

"Yeah," Travis said. "What would you do without me?"

"Oh, I don't know." Wes sank down in the chair that was placed by his bedside. "Solve more cases and destroy less property in the process, that kind of thing?"

"As if," Travis muttered, eyelids drooping.

He was asleep a moment later.

Then, only then, Wes let himself reach out. It was just a hand on an ankle, only a second of contact, but it was enough of a reassurance.

Travis was alive. Travis was alive, and Wes' bone-deep relief gave way to... everything else.

 

 

The hotel bar was the same as always. Wes was not. 

For one, he was now a certified quitter, and quite possibly no longer a partner to Travis. Plus, he was drinking much more than he usually would.

His fifth glass of whiskey was picked up from under his nose.

"What are you doing?" Doctor Ryan asked him.

Wes blinked at her for one hazy moment. "Doc," he greeted without enthusiasm. "I could ask you the same thing. Isn't this breaking professional boundaries? Yep, I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to invade my home without my express invitation." He gestured at the whole bar.

"And what a nice home it is," she remarked, looking around. "I like what you've done with the place."

Wes snorted. "Sarcasm doesn't become you. Isn't there a golden shrink rule against using sarcasm on patients? If not, there should be," he decided, pointing a finger at her.

She shrugged and sipped at his drink. "Whatever works."

And it had worked, he noticed belatedly. He was talking to her, when he had sworn to himself he wouldn't do that for at least another month.

His fist clenched on top of the bar.

"Wes," she said gently, putting down the glass. "What are you afraid of?"

He flinched. "I'm not afraid." The words didn't sound convincing even to his own ears. Damn alcohol.

"Hm," she said consideringly. "I'm going to put my extensive professional experience to use here and call bullshit."

Wes laughed. It felt good to laugh, even if it was less than sincere. "I have to say, doc, I like your style, if nothing else."

She took that one in stride. "I'm glad you approve. I'm all about customer satisfaction."

"Is that why you're here?"

"Partly. I was also hoping for a drink and some stimulating conversation." She lifted the glass at him. "I believe I can scratch number one off of my list. Would you also like to provide number two?"

Wes' brain was a little slow at the time, which was his only excuse for blurting out, "Are you coming on to me?"

"God, no," she said, laughing, and hey, wasn't that a boost for his ego.

He glanced mulishly down into his glass, or at least he was planning to. Right. She'd stolen his drink.

"Let's talk about something else then," she said. "Seen any good movies lately?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he put his head in his hands and cursed silently. His voice was muffled when he said, "I don't know what changed. I can't figure out what's different now."

She was silent for a moment, then she suggested, "If the situation is the same, maybe you're the one who's changed?"

Somehow, that was the scariest explanation possible. He lifted his head to look at her. "Into what?"

"You're not a werewolf," Doctor Ryan said, inappropriately amused. "Change is not a bad thing. It's just something that needs getting accustomed to."

Wes frowned. "Is that a line from one of your textbooks? Because it sounds suspiciously like Psychology 101."

"Could be, I have to admit," she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "But let's call it a universally acknowledged truth. You know as well as anyone that some things can't be learned from books, that sometimes your instincts can take you further than knowledge could. Travis knows it as well."

Wes squinted at her, trying to follow. "And, what? That's why our partnership works?"

"No. That's what adds significantly to your captain's stress levels," she said dryly. "You work well as a team, because you balance each other out. You complement each other."

Wes huffed out a laugh. "Now, that just sounds like it's straight from a bad rom com movie."

"You think so? Imagine two people like Travis working as partners. Imagine two of yourself. What do you think would happen?"

Wes made a face and wished he didn't know exactly where she was coming from. "I see your point. But it doesn't explain... Travis and I, we could be back on the streets a week from now, doing what we've been doing for years, and suddenly I'm... What? A coward?"

"Are you?" 

He thought about that for minute. "I don't think so." He truly didn't.

She took another sip from the whiskey and leaned forward to put her elbow on the bar, resting her chin on her palm. She wasn't fully turned towards him, for which Wes was grateful. To anyone else they probably looked like two strangers in the early getting-to-know stages of a new relationship, or possibly like a hotel bar hook-up in progress. It would be easier if either of those were true. At least he'd know what to expect.

"You've been in this job, in this partnership, for a while," Doctor Ryan said, her voice casual, her intentions surely anything but. "During that time, did you ever consider doing something else?"

"Give me a break," Wes said. "I already had my drastic change of career. I'm not doing that again."

"You like being a detective."

"Yes. And I'm good at it."

"I know."

It was ridiculous, but the compliment gave Wes a warm and pleasant feeling. He smiled down at the bar.

"If you're content with your job in general," she continued, "is there anything specific you would want to change at work? Or in your life?"

He kept staring down at he polished wood, frowning now.

"Wes," she said. "What do you want?"

In quick succession, Wes realized two things. One, he hadn't asked himself that question in a very long time, and two, he had no idea.

"I don't know," he said. 

It was the sad truth, and he had no clue what to do with it.

The music inside the bar was suddenly too loud. The room was starting to spin, and Wes wanted nothing more than to go back to his room, pull the covers over his head and forget the world existed for the rest of the night.

Doctor Ryan put a hand on his shoulder. "It's hard to allow yourself to want things when you've only just realized they can easily be taken away from you again."

Yeah, okay, Wes thought. Alex was not the whole story, but she explained enough.

"This is fucked up," Wes muttered.

"It's something to work your way through," Doctor Ryan corrected.

He sighed dramatically. "Do you have an answer for everything?"

"I try."

"Well, stop it. It's freaking annoying. Nobody likes a know-it-all."

"I'm not sure I can," she said, smiling cheekily. "I could be wrong, but I think it comes with the job."

Wes shook his head despite himself. "Don't take this the wrong way, doc, but I like you. You're a great person, for a shrink." He then realized that he'd actually said that out loud. It was entirely possible that he was a little too drunk to be having this conversation.

She took the statement gracefully, as the compliment it was, maybe, probably, intended to be. "Thank you, Wes."

"Now if you could just tell me what to do, that would be fantastic." He held up a hand before she could interrupt. "I know, I know. There is no recipe, this isn't a cooking class, and so on and so forth. But... Can't you give me something here?"

She pursed her lips. "Try approaching the issues one at a time. Step back from everything else, forget about your job, your ex-wife, anyone whose demands and expectations you feel compelled to fullfill, and concentrate on one thing."

Wes tried to imagine it. "I don't think that's possible."

"It's not," Doctor Ryan said, which made no sense. "Not completely, and especially not just on a whim like this. It takes..."

"Time," Wes finished.

"Exactly. For today, let's try this," she said, leaning in close and putting a hand on his arm. "Think about Travis, and tell me what you want."

"Travis?" Wes didn't know why he was surprised. Everything seemed to be coming down to Travis these days.

"Travis," she confirmed.

"Okay," he said. 

Travis. His partner. Soon-to-be ex-partner? Did he really want their partnership to end? What did he want Travis to be? At the moment, all he wanted was to get into Travis' face and yell at him, slam him into things until he saw sense, curse his stupidity into next Sunday, keep him safe, lay hands on him...

"Holy shit," Wes said. 

Terror and relief and dread warred for dominance in his chest, but none of them won.

Doctor Ryan smiled and slipped from her bar stool. "Have a good night, Wes."

"You couldn't have just told me?" he complained to her retreating back, quietly panicking.

"Where would be the fun in that?" she said and waved without turning around.

Then she was gone, and he was alone with his racing thoughts and skipping heartbeat. 

This was not the place to be alone with his thoughts. He signaled the barman to put the drinks on his room, then went outside to find a cab.

 

 

The precinct pooled their funds and got Travis a special-order t-shirt that said _Sponge Bob Saved My Life_. It was yellow, like the blanket had been, before Travis had stained it red.

Laroche and Cafferty were chosen as representatives to accompany Wes to the hospital and hand over the wrapped package, including a card that said, _Sorry! Getting shot sucks!_ The card had a balloon clip art on the front and was appallingly colorful. Someone must have made it on their office printer especially for the occasion. Wes almost hadn't signed it.

Travis was delighted by the gifts, of course.

"Aww guys, I didn't know you cared," he said and promptly put the t-shirt on, even managing to do it all on his own. The last of the IVs had come out days ago, and the rest... Travis was getting better.

"Thanks. This is awesome." Travis looked down at his new shirt, then up at Wes, grinning. "Hey, does that make you Sponge Bob?"

It was too much, going on pretending like everything was fine. Wes would be the first to admit that he was good at it – too good even, some people might argue – but he had his limits.

"Sure," Wes said. "Why not."

No argument, no comeback, no teasing. It was the moment Travis bought a clue that something was going on. Wes could see it in his face, before he turned and walked out the door with a clipped, "See you later."

 

 

"Sometimes I really don't get you," Travis said behind him.

Wes jumped mid-hum and liberally sprinkled water all over his shoes before he caught himself.

"And I don't mean this thing where you're watering your ex-wife's lawn at two-thirty in the morning," Travis continued, coming closer behind him. "That I actually get. It seems perfectly normal to me. Normal! I don't know about you, but I think that's cause for concern. I think Doctor Ryan would have something to say about that."

Water rained steadily down on the grass, soft noise filling the air. It was very soothing.

"It's a shared custody lawn," Wes pointed out over his shoulder, then resumed humming. 

"That, that's what I mean. What is that? You're you humming. Why are you humming? You don't hum. No, you know what? You don't _get_ to hum. You've been an asshole with a shitty attitude for weeks!"

The ground squished under Travis' feet as he took another step forward. He made a disgusted noise. "You realize you're killing your lawn? This is pracitcally a swamp. How long have you been here?"

Wes checked his watch. "Three hours, twenty minutes."

Travis walked around him, carefully avoiding any stray droplets. "Will you shut that off?"

Wes was tempted to aim the spray at him, but he turned the water off und dropped the hose. Travis was annoyed enough as it was. No, Wes realized when he got his first look at Travis' face. Annoyed didn't even begin to cover it. His expression was a picture of anger, hurt, concern and determination, all of it mixing together into something that came very close to despair. 

"Seriously, man. What are you doing?" Travis demanded, voice hard, suddenly not desperate at all. Not on the surface, at least, where anyone could see. 

Wes knew, he _knew_ , what that felt like. 

There was no avoiding this anymore, but Wes was ready. He met Travis' eyes and said, "Thinking. Making decisions."

Travis, being who he was, didn't grasp the gravity of the moment. "You can't do that at home where it's dry?" 

"I don't really have a home at the moment, in case you forgot," Wes said. It was good admitting it out loud in a way, even if it still stung.

"You..." Travis began. The admission obviously threw him for a loop, and the surpise drained some of the tension from his body. "No," he said. "I didn't forget. I didn't know you realized."

"I didn't, before," Wes said. "I _said_ I was thinking."

"And making decisions," Travis finished, nodding. "Sure."

"I'm calling a realtor tomorrow," Wes informed him. It was time. He was so far past the line into pathetic lethargy territory, it wasn't funny anymore.

"Of course you are." Travis' tone was almost obliging, and his eyebrows were raised.

It made Wes suspicious. "What? You think I shouldn't?"

"No, no, you should do that. Really." Travis still sounded like he wasn't buying what Wes was selling.

"Then what is it?

Travis gestured at him. "You."

"What about me?"

"You look, I don't know, weird. Kind of zen? And, I don't know. Happy? You don't do happy. Or zen. Are you drunk? Or on drugs?"

Wes stared at him. "I had a couple of drinks. I'm not drunk. Or high. I'm serious."

"Okay," Travis said and came closer, eyes searching Wes' face in the dim garden lights. "Yes. You're calling a realtor tomorrow, got it. Good for you. Congratulations. Any more revelations you want to share with me? Like, maybe you want to tell me why you want to break up our partnership?"

"Yes," Wes said. Then he swallowed thickly and failed to continue. This was a lot harder in practice than theorizing about it had promised. He rubbed a finger over his brow.

"Oh, wow," Travis said, sounding impressed. "Okay, there are big things happening with you, I can see that. I have to tell you, it makes me a little nervous. No, make that a lot nervous. What's going on? Where is this coming from?"

"It's been a long time coming," Wes said, and yes, that was cryptic, but it was true. Also, winding Travis up was still a lot of fun.

"You're worse than Doctor Ryan," Travis said.

"Exactly."

Travis laughed disbelievingly. "Wow, you're really not making any sense. When I'm the sensible one in this partnership, it freaks me out. Completely. You have no idea."

Wes had to smile at that. "It's nice to hear you finally admit it. That I'm the sensible one."

"Right now, not so much. Because ending this," Travis gestured between them, "Not a good idea."

"I know," Wes said, and he suddenly understood why Doctor Ryan found this so appealing, this process that had her carefully steering someone to an aswer she'd figured out a while ago. Although Wes had to admit that this, right here, felt more like a blind-leading-the-blind kind of situation. 

"Then... What?" Travis had a hand in his hair, pulling at it in frustration. "Honestly, I don't think I've ever wanted to deck you more in the entire time we've known each other, and that's saying a lot. Please, please, _please_ start making sense right the fuck now, or I will hit you."

"It's just that... I want..." Wes faltered again at the last moment and cursed himself for it.

"You want?" 

"Yeah," Wes said, feeling warm and itchy inside. "I want."

"You want what?" Travis prompted impatiently.

When words failed, demonstrations usually did the job. Wes stepped forward, took Travis' face in his hands and pressed one firm kiss to his lips. Then he stepped back and watched Travis' eyes grow wide as he raised his fingers to his lips, completely baffled.

"What... What the hell was that?"

"The answer to your question," Wes said. "That's what I want."

Travis looked utterly lost. "You... What? You can't just..."

"Why not?" Wes said, trying for calm when his heart was jackhammering in his throat. "What do _you_ want, Travis? That's what it comes down to now."

"God," Travis said, facing the sky, hands running through his hair. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Wes wasn't sure who exactly the question was directed to. Travis wasn't overly religious, but one could never be sure. "Travis?" he asked.

"I've thought about it, okay?" Travis admitted, like the words were punched out of him. "Back when we first met. Of course I've thought about it."

Wes was quiet for a long moment, spirits sinking. "Are you saying I had my chance and missed it?"

"I didn't say that. I'm saying that I didn't try to go for it, because we worked well together, and you were happily married, if you remember. And you weren't into guys anyway, and I wasn't even interested in diving into that side of the pool. All of that still holds. Most of that, I mean."

This big flashy pointer at Wes' failed marriage seemed to hurt Travis more than it did Wes, judging by the way he winced apologetically after the words had come out.

"You've done this before," Wes said, determined not to be distracted. "Dating guys."

Travis hesitated. "It was just the one, and it's been a while, but yeah."

They had never really talked about it. Travis had dropped a hint once, Wes had caught it and filed the information away, end of story. Or apparently not.

"It didn't end well," Travis said.

There was a world of things implied that he didn't say, things that seemed to boil down to, _That's why I never tried it again_. Wes had always assumed Travis must have been burned at some point. To shy away so violently from any kind of commitment, it had to be the aftermath of some big and ugly emotional showdown.

"But you!" Travis pointed at him. "You don't go for guys! You never did."

"Hey, I've thought about it. I'm curious!" Wes said heatedly. Travis looked at him with an expression caught between hurt and accusation and _I don't believe this shit_. Wes amended, "Okay, I've started to think about it." Travis continued his stare. Wes said, "Recently. Okay, fine, a few hours ago, are you satisfied?"

"Am I satisfied? Me? Not even a little bit. This? This is... I don't know what this is."

"You don't think we'd work?" Wes asked the question quietly, fearing the answer. It could very well be the wrong one, and where would that leave them?

"No." Travis took a deep breath. "No, I'm saying that I need to think about this."

"Okay," Wes said and tried hard to project reassurance and confidence. "Take all the time you need."

"Okay," Travis said and hesitated. "I'll see you then, I guess."

"Sure," Wes said.

Travis turned and walked away.

Wes picked up the hose and turned the water back on, attempting not to think this to death, not to lose hope, not to have too much hope either, not to...

"Okay, alright, I've thought about this," Travis said, suddenly right behind him again. "I mean, this is you, you and me, how hard can it be?"

"Pretty fucking complicated, are you kidding me," Wes said, just as he was grabbed by the arm and yanked around.

Not one for being manhandled, Wes grabbed back, and, yeah. Kissing. Kissing was fantastic. Even better when it was with Travis, with soft lips pressed hard against his, and then a tongue sliding against his own, everything hot and wet and wonderful.

This would totally work out great.

Travis had fingers in Wes' hair, and an arm around his waist, and Wes slipped a hand under Travis' shirt, and, oh, skin, warm skin he could rake his fingernails across. Travis made a groaning sound in the back of his throat and deepened the kiss to filthy, porn-worthy levels. 

Wes had never been kissed like this, like he was something that could be claimed. He'd never imagined he'd want to be, either. It was a heady feeling, and it quickly extinguished every stray rational thought his brain still managed to produce.

Reality flooded back when a voice sounded over the lawn.

"Wes, I know I said any time, but this is getting..." Alex' voice trailed off.

Travis pulled back, grinning at Wes, his face flushed and mischievious and generally the best thing Wes had seen in a long time. 

"Hi Alex," Travis greeted, not stepping away from the embrace.

"Uh," Alex said.

Wes buried his head in Travis' shoulder. "Hello Alex," he said, his voice muffled and his whole body still tingling from... everything.

He looked up to find Alex, beautiful and eloquent Alex in her favorite dressing gown, stepping onto the lawn bare-footed and bending to turn off the water. "Jesus, were you planning on putting in a pool here?"

Wes clenched his fists harder in Travis' shirt, apparently not intending to let go, not even right under his ex-wife's eyes.

"So, I guess you guys finally sorted things out," Alex said and crossed her arms.

"Finally?" Wes repeated, dumbfounded.

Alex muttered something about obliviousness that Wes didn't quite catch and shook her head at them. "Not that I'm not happy for you guys, but please get off my lawn. Do anything you like, but please don't do it here."

"Uh, okay," Wes said. "We're leaving." He proceeded to do so, because this situation was more than a little weird, if not completely mortifying. And seriously, what reason did Alex have to look so smug? 

He pulled Travis after him by the wrist, because the bastard didn't deserve any better. He was currently laughing his ass off at Wes' expense.

With Alex trailing behind them, they stepped onto the driveway. Wes' car was parked there. He momentarily forgot about all the rest of this more than strange situation. "Travis. You drove my car here? How did you get my car?"

Travis tried to look innocent. "It was in the hotel parking lot. And it wasn't like you were driving it at the time."

"You can't just... Why did you even come looking for me? No, wait, don't tell me. Doctor Ryan. I can't believe she did that. Is that even professional..."

"Get in the car, Wes," Travis interrupted and jingled the keys suggestively. 

Wes rolled his eyes, but climbed in the car. When he pulled the door shut behind him, he found Alex grinning at him through the windshield. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she advised, waving cheerfully.

Wes groaned and bumped his head against the passenger side window. He needed to forget this whole incident had ever taken place.

"What? Does that limit our options or something?" Travis asked and started the car.

"No," Wes informed him meaningfully. "Not at all."

This not only made Travis raise an eyebrow, it also heated up his gaze a notch or twelve.

Wes dug his fingers into the seat. This drive was going to kill him. For once in his life, he told Travis, "Step on it."

Travis complied.

Eight blocks and three turns later, Wes' head had lost a lot of the pleasant buzz that had clouded it before. This wasn't a good thing. It pushed a thought to the front of his mind that really shouldn't be ignored. He braced himself and said, "You still haven't asked me."

The enthusiastic tapping of Travis' fingers against the steering wheel stopped. "About what?"

"You know what," Wes said.

The silence between them was still charged, but no longer in a good way. 

Travis knew exactly what he was talking about.

 

 

Wes had about million missed calls and twice as many unanswered texts, before Travis showed up in the precinct and cornered Wes by his desk. He was holding himself stiffly. It was no surprise, since he was barely out of the hospital and still far from being completely healed.

"What are you doing here?" Wes asked unkindly and almost winced at his own tone. "You're off duty. You shouldn't be here."

"Oh, that's what I get? How about, _Hey Travis, good to see you walking around on your own two feet, sorry for skipping out on you before_? What is wrong with you, man?"

"Nothing," Wes said and flipped through an arrest report. "I'm working. You're a distraction."

"I'm a... Okay." Travis pulled his chair over to Wes' desk and sank down into it with a quiet sound of distress.

Wes clenched his jaw, but didn't look over.

"Tell me what's going on. You're starting to really freak me out here. Talk to me, man."

"Travis," Wes said, closing his eyes.

"Wes, come on, at least look at me." Travis sounded truly upset.

Wes couldn't do this here. He couldn't do this at all. He had no answers for Travis, and Travis would only become more and more pissed off at the lack of getting them.

His gun and badge were in the top drawer. He reached in and grabbed them. "I'm heading out. Criminals to catch."

"Wes? We're talking about this! Don't think this is over!"

It was a mean thing to do, running away when Travis couldn't follow him, but it was the only option.

Before Wes stepped out the door, he heard the captain yell at Travis about reconvalescence and how he wasn't even supposed to be here and would he kindly leave the premises and not come back for the foreseeable future.

That was one less thing for Wes to worry about. He'd had his fingers crossed that the therapy sessions would be off limits for Travis as well, but no such luck, as the captain had already informed Wes with entirely too much gleeful conviction.

Outside the precinct Cafferty crossed his path on her way in. 

"Hey Mitchell," she greeted enthusiastically. "We got a solid lead on one of your bank robbers. Surveillance footage from the toy store showed..."

"Not my bank robbers," Wes interrupted.

She blinked, surprised. "But he's one of the crew that shot Travis. I thought you'd want to be kept in the..."

"It's your case," he bit out. "I don't need to know the details. Just solve it."

She was openly staring at him at this point. "What is wrong with you, Mitchell?"

If he ever figured ot out, he'd let them all know.

 

 

Wes watched Travis' jaw clench and his fingers tighten on the steering wheel.

"Okay," Travis said. "Fine. You want to talk about this now, we'll talk about it." Then he hesitated, like he didn't actually want to ask the question and be forced to hear the answer. It only lasted for a moment, and then he almost shouted, "Why the hell didn't you want to get involved in the case? Why didn't you hunt those guys down and kick their asses? They shot me, Wes. They almost killed me!"

"I know," Wes said tightly. "You think I could forget that? Jesus, Travis. I'll never be able to forget that. I wanted to go after them, I wanted to catch them, badly, but... I didn't know what I'd to them if I found them. I don't know what I would have done to them." 

The _You know what that's like_ remained unspoken.

"Alright," Travis said, swallowing audibly. "Okay. I get that. I do. But let's make one thing clear: you're not quitting this partnership."

"I'm not quitting this partnership," Wes confirmed and placed a hand experimentally on Travis' neck, stroking the soft skin there lightly with his thumb. Travis relaxed under the touch. 

"Okay," Travis said again, almost on a sigh, and that was a good sound. That was a sound that filled Wes with relief. The quirk of Travis' lips, on the other hand, sparked something else entirely. 

This, this was going to work. This was going to go somewhere breathtaking. 

This was taking them, for now, to the hotel parking lot, where they exploited the situation as best as they could. 

They made out in the car. 

Full-on made out, like this was high school or something, with extensive above-the-waist touching and occasional straying hands that made Wes groan and Travis nip at whatever body part of Wes' he had in reach at the time.

The car wasn't an ideal location for this kind of activity, especially since Travis hadn't gotten his full flexibility back. Flexibility. God. What a thought. Also, public indecency. Not such a great thought. Wes could live without being caught in this act by a uniformed colleague, thanks.

The thought was a sobering one. He pulled back, one hand still on Travis' cheek. "I said I'm not going to quit this partnership, and I meant it, but you realize we're asking for trouble, right? Us working together, and," Wes gestured between them, "this?"

"Yeah," Travis said. "I know."

"We hardly get through the average work day without punching each other." 

"I said I know," Travis said impatiently. "I saw what happend, when I... What happened to you. I understand, okay? I think it'd be the same for me. I know we'll have to deal with this eventually."

"Eventually," Wes agreed. "But not tonight." 

It could wait, because Wes and Travis had waited longer, no doubt about that, and fair was fair. 

He briefly pressed his lips against Travis' again and asked, "You want to come up and have no coffee at all with me?"

"Smooth," Travis said, grinning. "You're a regular casanova. No wonder you've been beating the girls off with a stick."

"Shut up," Wes said.

Travis moved in for another quick brush of lips, before sliding his cheek against Wes' and biting his earlobe. "Race ya," he breathed warmly into Wes' ear. Wes shivered. 

Travis jumped out of the car and vanished into the hotel foyer before Wes could fully process the words. 

But when he did? 

Wes got moving. Oh, how he got moving.

 

 

"So," Rozelle said smugly. "You do find your partner attractive."

"I'm comfortable enough in my masculinity to admit that, yes, from an objective point of view Travis might be considered attractive," Wes said, and no matter how much she or Dakota might prod, he was not going to go into detail and talk about, for example, Travis' eyes. He was _not_. He wasn't even thinking about them. At all.

Despite having received such a gracious compliment, Travis elbowed Wes in the side. "I sweep him off his feet every day," he informed the group, while casting a cautious sideways glance at Wes. "In the good way. And don't let him tell you anything else."

Wes wasn't quite ready to joke about this yet. 

"Yes," he said. "And let's stick with the good way, if that's at all possible, thanks." 

Or maybe he was ready, as long as Travis' thigh was pressed warmly against his own.

Doctor Ryan sent them both a look that was entirely too knowing. Wes predicted private sessions in his and Travis' near future, lots and lots of conversations about trust and commitment and boundaries between professional and personal lives.

Wes barely held back a snort when he caught Doctor Ryan hiding a smile that was most definitely aimed in their direction. Professionalism, huh? Like she was one to talk.


End file.
